


Pistol of the Survivor

by Daeva_Labeija



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, M/M, Prison, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, fighting pits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daeva_Labeija/pseuds/Daeva_Labeija
Summary: To retrieve a weapon blessed by Shiva, Gladiolus Amicitia goes undercover as a criminal in Gralea's fighting pits. But a wrench is thrown into the royal retinue's plans when a Niflheimian slave comes into the picture.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Pistol of the Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate universe that still follows the magic system (summons are slightly different though), mythology and most relationship dynamics in the game but history unfolded in a different way, particularly the fall of Insomnia.  
> And, Prompto was never rescued from Niflheim as a baby.

**Part 1: The Arena**

* * *

_Chapter 1: The Reward_

* * *

-1-

“Good job in the pits, Lucian.” A gravelly voice from the other side of the bars echoed through the cell. A dented chrome baton dragged against the row of steel bars, clacking repetitively to annoy the lone occupant, Gladiolus Amicitia. 

“You killed a red giant? All by yourself?” The tone was equal parts disbelieving and mocking.

Gladio was reluctant to leave his modest bed but he knew there were no faster ways to make the guard, Mirche, shut up. He padded across the cell, still in the same blood-splattered armor he wore in the match, and leaned a heavy shoulder against the bars.

“I’m still here.” Gladio flashed the guard a proud smile. “And can’t leave the pit with my opponent still standing.”

“Yeah.” Mirche grinned back, showing off the silver in his teeth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trained by the royal military. Do you even have those where you’re from?” 

Gladio didn’t bother answering. He knew Mirche didn’t really want to learn more about him. And that was for the best, considering Gladio didn’t really have his story straight on that aspect yet. He ought to try and remember the details of the background Ignis and Cor made up for him for the mission. 

“You excited for your reward?” Mirche asked with a little waggle of his eyebrows, his fleeting interest for Gladio's training gone.

“I told them I didn’t want it.” Gladio looked away upon mention of that. It wasn’t like he killed the beast for a reward. He did it because his life depended on it.

...And it was part of their plan.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Mirche’s hands were in the air as if he had to calm Gladio down. “You don’t want it?” The guard’s neck jutted out at an angle in an effort to emphasize his disbelief.

“They’re giving you a slave!” Mirche exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air higher. “Sure it’s a defect runt but… a hole’s a hole, man.” He mumbled to himself while giving Gladio a tame eye-roll. The guard kept walking along the hallway, presumably doing his job, until his mumbling were incoherent, unintelligible noises to Gladio. 

Gladio went back to his bed, this time undoing the clasps on his dirty armor first so he can shrug them off before throwing himself on the mattress. His aches and bruises needed to be tended to but he’s far too tired to even think of disinfecting and dressing his wounds. It did cross his mind that a slave would be handy in this situation but he’d convinced himself that he didn’t need one. Apart from the obvious reason of owning somebody being immoral, he had no plans of staying here for long. With a shrug of annoyance, he forced himself to do the bare minimum in ensuring his wounds don’t get infected. He stood up and walked to the only sectioned-off corner of the cell, a small shower area that barely fit his huge frame. He turned a knob and stood under the flow of cold water. He looked down as both blood and grime swirled around his feet before disappearing into the drain. 

“A few more battles… and you’ll get it.” Gladio mumbled to himself but in his heart it was a soft encouragement that he heard in Noctis', Ignis' and Cor's voices.

* * *

-2-

“You had one day off.” The slave handler, Aliud, said to announce his presence to the lone slave being kept in storage. Aliud winced at the grating sounds of the locks turning and the rusty gate dragging against the stone floors. 

Aliud saw the slave stand up quickly from one corner of the room. His small face held a sad but empty expression. He sported the look that only long-time slaves had. And he looked far too young to have been thoroughly broken.

“You’re lucky you had one free day. Viator dying in the arena was a surprise to everybody. We didn’t think we had to reassign you to someone so soon though. I guess all it takes is one misstep for a pit fighter to get mauled by a daemon.” He filled the small space with the sound of his voice, fully aware that he’ll get no response from the slave. It was a comfort more to him than the slave, and he could admit to that selfishness. Anything to pretend he's not part of a horrible system.  
  
Aliud took out his Arena phone once they were standing close to each other and like clockwork, the slave presented his bar code for easy scanning.

Aliud looked over the information available on the slave and discovered that he had been a comfort slave in the arena for about four years. He cringed as he eyed the boy’s current age: 20. He focused on confirming the slave’s transfer to a pit fighter named Gladio, a murderer from Lucis. His brow quirked out of interest over the foreign criminal but he put his curiosity aside in the meantime. He glanced at the notes in the bottom of the slave’s page. Previous identity: Prompto Argentum. 

“Prompto.” Aliud tried.

Prompto’s back stiffened upon mention of his former name. A spark of recognition flashed in his dull eyes.

“Oh.” Aliud let out a soft chuckle. “You’re not dead yet, huh?”

Just like that, the light behind Prompto’s eyes faded and he was once again back to the docile, submissive slave that he is.

Aliud pocketed his phone and then activated his Chainguard, which looked like a mere silver bracelet to the untrained eye. But after four years here, the slave knew exactly what to do. Without being prompted, he raised his wrist code again for scanning. Once done, he brought his small hands up to present his shackles, then turned his head to the side so his collar won’t be hidden by his long bangs. 

Aliud pulled the thin, unbreakable chain that reeled out the thick bracelet then slipped on the chains to Prompto’s steel and leather collar, then connected them to the steel shackles on his wrists. He gave it a firm but calculated tug to keep the chains snug, then led the blonde out of storage. 

“It’s another big boy for you. Chopped the leg off of a red giant. The whole arena felt that daemon hit the ground.” Aliud pretty much dragged Prompto down the hallway and into a dimly-lit elevator, all while engaging into a one-way conversation with the slave despite not knowing if he still had the mental capacity to understand.

“You never get paired up with one of the slim ones. The springy, light-footed types that rely on speed in battle. You always get paired up with a jacked-up brawler type.” The handler reached one hand to lift the back of the canvas shift that was Prompto’s only article of clothing. He took a look at the blonde’s bare skin and noticed bruises dotting his waist, hips and thighs. Most were oval-shaped, about the size of a big man’s fingertip. Aliud looked at the varying colors, dark blue, purple, yellow, red-violet, suggesting they were in varying stages of healing. He pulled the rough fabric back down again to cover the slave. “Guess you’re used to it, huh?” 

Prompto didn’t let out a response and Aliud didn't expect one. The slave merely looked down to his bare feet.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. The handler kept the same quick pace as he led the slave through corridors, passing by cell after cell of pit fighters, most of which were obviously deprived of ‘comfort’.

“Oi, is that for me? Come on, it’s my second win! Give me something!” A pale man with rough facial scarring demanded, rattling his cell bars.

“Shut up.” Aliud whacked his baton against the steel bars. “You get a slave after a win against level 40 and above daemons. You’ve barely broken level 10.” A chorus of laughter among the nearby pit fighters drowned out the more perverted requests coming from faceless voices all around. Aliud remained quiet from them on; there was no need to distract himself and the slave with depressing stories anymore. 

They passed the more crowded corridors and end up on a wide hallway. The area held the impression of a hospital, and quite fittingly so because it was designed for ample space for gurneys to pass through. They stopped at a cell that looked more like what Aliud was used to visiting—pretty decent space of thirty square feet, a cell with a double bed, a kitchenette and a bathroom. It’s a cell in name because of the three windowless walls and the fourth of steel bars encasing it. This is the cell of a pit fighter who brings in the money. One-on-one fights with dreaded daemons and beasts. Level 40 rewards include a slave. The previous levels reward a more comfortable cell.

The handler pressed his ID card against the scanner, then his Chainguard, and while they waited, he heard a low groan from behind them.

“How pretty.” 

Aliud turned to the pit fighter on the opposite cell to try and recognize him. Long face, limp hair. Dark bags under his eyes. A tall but slender build. His initial thought was that he looked like someone from the wanted ads but then again, every single one of the pit fighters ought to have been at one point. He made a mental note to look him up once he finished Prompto’s transfer.

“Pretty girl, show me your cunt.” 

“This one’s a boy, actually. Maybe you’ll get lucky and get a girl if you win your next match. You should be the next one to win a slave.” Aliud answered then pushed the door open and led Prompto inside. He looked around only to spot the rewarded pit fighter in the shower. He shrugged and unclipped the chains from Prompto’s collar and shackles. He brought a hand to cup the slave’s cheek so he can tilt his head up and make him look at him in the eyes. 

“I guess try to look cute? Maybe he’ll be gentle.” Aliud shrugged once more before exiting the cell, his mind mocking him, _Gentle? This criminal has been deprived of sex since he was incarcerated. Don't make the boy hope._

* * *

-3-

Gladio stepped out of the shower, his only towel used to dry his dripping hair. Modesty was the last thing on his mind, fully thinking that he’s alone. He went over to the closet opposite the bathroom only for his attention to be caught be a shock of yellow standing out in the sea of dreary colors that was his cell. 

It took a moment for his mind to settle and notice that there was another person.

“Oh.” Gladio squinted his eyes and tried to focus on the blonde’s expression. He saw nothing but a blank stare and was convinced for a moment that somebody just propped up a mannequin in the middle of his cell to freak him out. But that theory’s way-off, considering the 'mannequin' just started walking towards him. 

The blonde looked up to show his face and Gladio was a little surprised to find blue-violet eyes meeting his gaze. An image of the prince’s blue eyes surfaced in his mind. A warmth over the fond memory almost washed over him, up until the blonde angled his neck, presenting his collar and then without missing a beat, pulled off his shift to bare his body.

To say that Gladio was taken aback would be an understatement. He looked away and used his towel to hide his face, pretending to wipe the moisture off of it. He reached down to the floor to pick up the rough garment that the blonde discarded then handed it back to him. 

“Put that back on.” Gladio said, his voice unintentionally gruff. He walked past the blonde so he can dress himself as well, uncharacteristically choosing a shirt to go with his sweatpants for sleep. 

Once he turned to face the blonde, he found him standing exactly where he left him, having obediently put on his canvas shift. Gladio let out a sigh and brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose. He bet he looked as stressed as Iggy with how troubled he is with his current companion.

He chose to sit on the bed, not that far from where the blonde was standing.

“What’s your name?” He said and this time tried to seem less threatening by smiling.

The blonde said nothing and merely raised his left arm. He tugged at the shackle on his wrist to expose a tattoo there. When all Gladio did was raise an eyebrow at the gesture, he finally spoke,

“N-iP01357. 05953234.” 

Gladio didn’t know what to say so for a while, his mouth was left agape. He looked into the blonde’s eyes and saw that he clearly believed that was the answer to his question. He let out another sigh and gestured for the blonde to come sit next to him, which the slave obediently did.

“That’s not a name. That’s a code.” Gladio said. “My name’s Gladio.”

The blonde nodded. “Master Gladio.” 

“Ah, no.” Gladio insisted. “No need for that. Just Gladio is fine.” He could tell that there was conflict going on in the blonde’s internal thoughts. “Call me Gladio.”

The blonde broke eye contact and looked to his lap before facing Gladio again. There was a look of fright in his eyes. “Yes, G-Gladio.” The blonde tested the word in his mouth, almost wincing. It was like he was bracing himself to get hurt.

“Oh, you got it!” Mirche’s lilting voice from outside the cell broke Gladio’s concentration on the blonde. “What’re you doing sitting around with it? Not your type, Lucian?” 

Gladio stood up to talk to the dawdling guard. “I told you I didn’t want a slave." He said firmly, his real conviction leaking through his supposed criminal persona. "I don’t have the time to take care of another person-...”

“You got it all wrong, man. It’s supposed to take care of you.” Mirche interrupted smugly then his gaze shifted to the blonde still on the bed. “Hey! Clean up the cell.” He called out and instantly the blonde stood up and walked over to a concealed locker embedded on the wall that Gladio didn’t even know of. The blonde held up his wrist so that a small camera can scan his code, then a narrow compartment opened, from which Gladio saw the blonde take out a mop and a bucket. The blonde then quickly mopped the puddles that Gladio left after leaving the shower while still dripping.

“That’s not how most pit fighters use them but…” Mirche trailed off with a furrow in his brow. “Is it a boy? Did you want a girl instead? ‘Cause you can’t pick your slave. You get what’s in stock.”

“I’m not being picky. I don’t want one _at all_.” Gladio said, his tone final. From the shocked look on the guard’s face, he seemed to have gotten the message through his skull.

“W-well I guess that can be arranged.” Mirche inched away from the cell bars. For the first time, he showed fear towards the much bigger warrior behind bars. He took out a phone, typed and sent a quick message to someone. About two seconds passed before his phone started ringing. 

“Yeah, he’s serious.” Mirche said upon bringing the phone to his ear.

“How should I know?" The guard carried on with his conversation in his usual loud voice, acting like the incident was a minor annoyance. "He’s Lucian. Maybe he doesn’t like blondes?” 

Gladio felt irked about the guard’s reasoning. He always brought up his country of origin for unrelated matters. He kind of wished that they made up a different nationality for him on this mission. His accent is undeniably Lucian though, and he’s not particularly talented in mimicking other accents like Nyx or Cor.

“Sure. Sure.” Mirche mumbled before putting his phone back in his pocket. “The slave handler’s gonna come get him.” He told the pit fighter.

Gladio nodded and then looked back to the blonde who has now started to wipe the tiny sink and counter in the kitchenette. 

“You don’t even wanna try?” Mirche said. “He’s small, sure, but that one’s been here for years. He can handle it.”

Gladio forced himself not to glare at the guard, responding only with a clipped “No.”

“Your loss.” Mirche’s eyes zoned in on the blonde still cleaning the cell. “You can have him around just to tidy your place up. Keep ya company here.”

“I don’t want a slave.” Gladio retorted. And that was that. Mirche backed off and despite the obvious curiosity in the guard's eyes, he left Gladio and the slave alone.

* * *

A few minutes passed and the slave handler arrived. Gladio noticed that he looked quite distinct from the guards, from his uniform to the equipment he had with him.

“Are you absolutely sure? You can’t take it back, you know. You won't be given a replacement either.” He explained to Gladio.

The Lucian noted that this guy is probably the most articulate person he's met since coming to the Arena and he's reminded of just how low the bar is around here. “I’m sure.” He answered..

The slave handler looked exasperated, bordering on angry, even. It was as if he didn’t want to hook the chain on his hands back to the blonde’s collar. He looked to the opposite cell, and called out to the pit fighter there. “What’s your next fight against, Saevus?” 

“Hello to you too, Aliud.” A tall, slender man came to lean against the cell bars. He rested his elbows on the bulky locks before grinning rather creepily at the other men across the hallway. “That’d be against a Yojimbo.”

“A Yojimbo’s classified as level 46. That your first above 40 fight?” Aliud clarified, but he was locking eyes with Gladio.

“Yes.” Saevus answered in his haunting, raspy voice.

“You know what you’re gonna get if you win that fight?” 

“Yes.”

“What.” Aliud grew tired of the other fighter's purposefully vague answers and it showed in both voice and expression.

“A slave of my own.” Saevus’ gaze was trained right at the small blonde wiping the tiles in the shower area. “Why do you ask? Am I getting it in advance? Will I be getting that pretty sunflower?” He asked, his excitement bared. Gladio cringed, thinking that the hope in his voice sounded like a threat to the slave's life.

“Yeah. If you win.” Aliud confirmed.

Right away did malice shine on the slender man’s eyes. 

Gladio’s gaze honed in on the pit fighter’s form across the hallway. _That one was actually a criminal put here._ Saevus had taken out a dagger and was swaying it languidly while watching the blonde clean the floor.

“Saevus, no weapons through the cell bars.” Aliud reminded the fighter.

“Right, right, Aliud, sorry.” The tone was mocking but the slave handler no longer acknowledged him. His focus was back to Gladio, turning towards him with purpose.

“If you refuse him and Saevus wins his Yojimbo match, Prompto will end up as that guy’s slave.” Aliud explained. He knew he had no reason to say these things. He had convinced himself that he simply didn’t want all the paperwork involved in filing a permanently incapacitated unit. Deep down he just didn’t want another slave to die in a barbaric way.

_Prompto?_ Gladio took note of the name. He then glanced at the blonde before firing back at Aliud. “What makes you think I’m not as bad as that guy?”

Aliud only met Gladio's stare, unimpressed. “Saevus, what got you locked up here?” He called out.

“Killed some people.” Saevus drawled and nowhere in his tone was there acknowledgment of that horrendous act.

“How’d you kill those people.” Aliud asked, looking impatient.

“With a knife.”

“ _How_ exactly.” Aliud attempted a clarification one final time.

“Stabbed ‘em. Made them bleed out.”

Aliud roughly scratched at his scalp in annoyance after hearing Saevus’ vague answers. “That man mutilated 18 people. Male, female. Young, old. He stabbed them multiple times between the legs and watched them bleed out. I know nothing about you, because your records look forged. Forged well, but forged nonetheless. Still, I’m willing to bet my own life that you’re better than that man on the opposite cell.”

Gladio’s thoughts halted for a moment after hearing that someone was downright convinced there’s something fishy with his documents. His gaze then flitted back to Saevus, who watched Prompto with an intensity that made it so easy to believe Aliud's claims about his horrific crimes.

“If you don’t wanna do it for the slave then do it for me. I’ve never had a fighter refuse a reward and it’s gonna be a bitch for me to figure out which form to use so I can switch his master. The only normal way for a slave to switch masters is when the previous master dies. But you haven’t died. I don’t wanna figure out how to do that. So why don’t you be a selfless guy for this one moment and just try living with a quiet, helpful slave in your cell.”

“You didn’t have to turn that into a moral lesson.” Gladio figured it wouldn’t be too much of a disruption in his plans. “I’ll do it for Prompto. Not for you and your lazy excuse about paperwork.”

“Great.” Aliud retracted the chains and let himself out of Gladio’s cell. 

With the slave handler out of sight and Saevus slinking deeper back into his cell again, Gladio focused on the blonde that’s sweeping the floor quietly.

“The slave handler said your name is Prompto.” 

The blonde looked up at the taller man, his eyes holding a faint sliver of an emotion—doubt? “Before, yes.” Prompto answered.

“That’s… still your name. Unless you don’t like it anymore? Did you want a new name?”

The blonde’s eyes darkened, like a light had been put out.

“M-mas-... um, Gladio can name me whatever he wants.”

Gladio waited for the blonde to maybe double back and admit what he wanted but it never happened. 

“I want what you want. How about that?” He tried again, this time making effort to sound gentler.

The blonde faltered once more, unsure of what to do and what to say.

“I d-don’t have…" Prompto looked around nervously, looking terrified as if Gladio's offer was a test. "I don’t want...” The blonde mumbled, voice nearly breaking.

Gladio sighed. “I guess Prompto it is.”

Gladio saw Prompto’s eyes widen a fraction. 

“You’re Prompto.” He repeated, then brought a hand to ruffle the blonde’s hair. 

The slave looked at the floor, clutching at the broom with both hands. “I’m…”

As he smoothed down the other's hair, he pondered on how exactly he can keep his mission intact with this unforeseen variable being added to the mix.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s no proper Prompto POV yet because there’s next to nothing going on in his head as of the moment (aside from deeply upsetting repetitive thoughts). The time will come wherein he’s more himself though! His true sunshine chocobo personality will come out little by little. That bit’s gonna be slow to build up. Other things won’t be slow to burn though
> 
> If I missed tagging anything, please tell me so I can update it ^_^


End file.
